


Seated Upon Her Throne

by Measured



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Being Walked In On, Companionable Snark, F/M, Oral Sex, Throne Sex, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-01
Updated: 2014-07-01
Packaged: 2018-02-07 00:10:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1877709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Measured/pseuds/Measured
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their arrangement had nothing to do with history and everything to do with them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seated Upon Her Throne

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Samuraiter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samuraiter/gifts).



Two thrones stood within the room, one towering above the other. Both were made of old weapons broken in battle, which had turned rusty with force and blood. She hadn't known the cushioned feel of the high Khan's seat in _years_ , and to sit upon the throne made her victory all the much sweeter. She looked over the light of the arena, broken down swords and bones, sweat and blood and rust. All this was her domain now, and more. The snowy reaches, the arenas, training grounds, and armies. All were hers to lead and guide for as long.

And, if she kept hiring Chrom, she might keep this rule for a long ways yet. Of course, Basilio would try and pay him more, bring Chrom and the Tactician over to his side. All the more to ante up the challenge, and make each clash that much more memorable.

She leaned back and awaited the sound of his footsteps, the heavy clang of armor, and the neat palatable feel of his swagger. Even in defeat, he never lost his pride. She wouldn't have it any other way.

"It's been a while," she said. _Too long. Far too long_.

His smirk was a challenge she was all too willing to take.

"You're always so _belligerent_. Your Khan demands your obedience. On your knees, Oaf."

He chuckled. "You've been waiting for years to say that."

"Damn right I have," Flavia said.

He knelt before her, his gaze never leaving hers. His defiance demanded to be broken. She licked her lips in anticipation.

Their arrangement had nothing to do with history and everything to do with them. It'd gone on so long that she couldn't even remember who had started it, only that they had a large glass of ale to thank for this ritual between them. As he knelt before her, there was nothing of submissiveness in him, only challenge. And that was what made it that much sweeter as he hiked up her shirt, pulling her shortclothes down. She saw a smirk before he buried his face between her thighs. She tensed, and let out a low groan as he teased her with his mouth. 

"Get on with it," she said.

"Impatient as ever," he said.

He balanced her legs up on his massive shoulders. She'd never known a man this devoted to getting a woman off in his own rough way. His stocky, muscled chest pushed against the back of her thighs. Scars to skin, rough and wonderful and once again _hers_. She'd been wet and waiting, and his fingers slipped right in, filling her thick and rough full of him. He teased her with the edge of his lips, pushing her on until her hips jutted with every thrust.

Neither would admit this temporary servitude met both their needs. Even minutes later, their post-coital glow would be broken by another argument. Often their truces didn't even last through sex itself, but that only made them both come harder in the end. He sure would say some stupid things, but, oh, the things he could do with his tongue. 

Her arm stretched out to touch his magnificent brown scar-covered chest. She touched as close as the constrains of the throne could allow. He was the fiercest, most handsome, and strong man she knew, and would ever knew. He ruined all other men preemptively for her, which only made him the more aggravating. 

Not that she'd ever let _him_ know that, though. She never had forgiven him for making her love him, and never would. He was still working off that debt, and would his entire life spent by her side, fighting and fucking, sparring and ruling together until death claimed them both.

This was her happiness. One filled with occasional aggravation, with insults used like endearments so often that neither could tell the difference any longer. 

She let out a happy little sigh at the touch of his mouth, his warm tongue against her clit. Each thrust of his thick fingers was making her toes curl in her boots. Pleasure won over pride as she gasped, completely on the edge of orgasm.

"Oh—I knew you were good for something," she said.

"I'll show you just how many things I'm good for," Basilio said. 

"You'd better when you spar with me tomorrow. You know I won't abide with you going halfway," she said.

His fingers remained in her, still and pushing deep into her. His gaze was intense, filled with a determination and passion she'd usually only known at swordpoint. He sparred as he fucked: with utter ruthlessness.

"How much do you want it?" 

"I'm not going to _beg_ ," she said. 

He brushed her clit with his lips. His fingers were still and not moving. She arched her back, ground her hips against him. Her body ached for his touch, and yet he'd pulled back just enough to tease.

"I won't beg; I'll _demand_ as the High Khan for you to do your duty," she gasped out.

"If you put it that way, I might just have to let you win," Basilio said.

He licked her slow and hard, just the way she liked it. And it was enough, more than enough to finally push her over the edge. Flavia drank in the sight as her mind slowed and her muscles twitched around him. She hadn't long to enjoy her post-coital bliss, as she heard a sound something like a gasp and a sob mixed together, a much deeper grunt, and the last creak of a door pushed open too far.

"After all these years, you'd think the two of you would learn to knock," Flavia said. 

Olivia had flushed bright pink, hiding her face away in the filmy veils of fabric that barely passed for sleeves. Lon'qu clutched his sword and pulled back in a embarrassment, as if he could solve this problem like he solved all others.

Whatever it was they had to say was shocked out of them. Though it had to be important enough for them to actually linger awkwardly at the door. Neither of them were able to look their Khans in the eyes, and probably wouldn't for days afterwards.

With some reluctance, they disengaged. Her legs off his broad shoulders, his presence gone. She wasn't quite done with him yet, but it would have to do.

"Duty calls, I suppose you'll have to wait for another rematch," she said. 

"You're a cruel woman," Basilio said.

"You can wait the five minutes it takes to get back to my rooms," she said.

"You'll be the death of me, yet," Basilio said.

"If a few minutes without a fuck puts you at death's door, then you're less hardy than I thought," Flavia said.

"Is that another challenge?" Basilio said.

"You should know better; it's always a challenge," she said. "And that's _High Khan Flavia_ to you," she said. _And that's what you'll be calling out tonight in our rematch_ she added in a low, husky whisper.

A promise of more than words. One they both readily accepted, even through insults and harsh words which sounded kind in the wan light of night.


End file.
